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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773762">Sunstruck</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily'>calenlily</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfortween 2020, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Shanshu, heat exhaustion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:36:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Southern California weather is not kind to new humans.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Angel/Buffy Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Comfortween 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sunstruck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html">Comfortween</a> day one prompt “Too Hot!” Written all in one go and posted immediately, so it’s probably super rough.</p><p>This is the first time I’ve ever written human!Angel, and quite possibly may be the only time, but when the scenario popped into my head I just couldn’t resist.</p><p>Hopefully this is moderately believable. I’m from Alaska, so I’m a lot more familiar with hypothermia and frostbite than heat sickness.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. There’s a nest of Arktos demons preying on hikers out in the hills - a small den, nothing the two of them aren’t more than equipped to handle, so why not leave the team behind, pack a picnic along with the weapons, make a day of it? Buffy and Angel never have figured out “normal”, but they’ve found something a little to the left of it that suits them both.</p><p>The demons themselves go down smoothly enough. The trouble comes not long after they start making their way back, when she catches him swaying alarmingly on his feet.</p><p>“Angel?”</p><p>He leans heavily on her shoulder for a minute, but then straightens back up, brushing off her concern. “Sorry. The fight must have taken more out of me than I realized.”</p><p>She watches him warily, less than reassured, as he wipes sweat from his forehead and rubs at his temple with a grimace. “You sure that’s it?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he insists. “Got a little woozy for a moment, there, that’s all.”</p><p>Buffy’s eyes narrow. The more she looks at him, the more she feels certain that something is seriously off. “You’re clearly <em>not</em> fine, Angel, last time I saw you this pale you didn’t have a <em>pulse</em>.”</p><p>She reaches for his hand and finds it cold and clammy to the touch. A chord of familiarity strikes in the back of her mind. First aid for anything other than battlefield trauma has never been her strong suit, but these are symptoms she’s been drilled in since childhood. “When you say ‘a little woozy’ does that by chance mean ‘tired and faint’? Maybe kinda queasy?”</p><p>“And a bit of a headache,” Angel admits. He grimaces again, whether from physical discomfort or the accuracy of her guess she isn’t certain. Maybe both. Thank god he’d gotten to keep his strength and healing factor when he turned human; the way the man refuses to admit weakness, he’d have gotten himself killed in a week otherwise.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Buffy mutters, holding onto exasperation to distract from the sick twisting of fear in the pit of her stomach. “I’m dating an idiot.”</p><p>(Okay, it’s not entirely his fault, she acknowledges privately. Warning signs and precautions against heat sickness may be common knowledge to every schoolchild in California, but what relevance would they have to an Irishman who’s been immune to the inconveniences of heat and cold for the last two centuries? On the other hand, not wearing head to toe black in the middle of a SoCal summer ought to be simple common sense, so the assessment stands.)</p><p>She stretches up on her toes to press a hand to his forehead, and curses under her breath. “You’re burning up.”</p><p>She looks around, considering options. They’re at least an hour out still from the parking lot, and the trail shelter is nearly as far in the opposite direction. But there’s a rock overhang a few hundred meters up the trail that offers shade on three sides; it will have to do for shelter. She pulls his arm over her shoulders and strikes out in that direction.</p><p>“Buffy, what...?” he asks in confusion, though he follows her lead without hesitation.</p><p>“You’ve got heat exhaustion,” she explains shortly. “And it could easily turn into heat stroke if you don’t listen to me. We have to get out of the sun.”</p><p>“Got it,” he acknowledges. She has a feeling he doesn’t really know what she’s talking about, but at least he trusts her.</p><p>“Sit down,” Buffy orders when they reach the shade of the outcropping. “And take off your jacket.”</p><p>Obediently he shrugs out of his duster and slumps against the cool stone. She kneels beside him and makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt.</p><p>Angel offers her a sideways smile. “Not that I’m not flattered, but is this really the time to be undressing me?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes, though she takes it as a good sign that he’s with her enough to be making innuendos. “Mind out of the gutter. We need to cool you down.”</p><p>She takes the shirt from him when he slips it from his shoulders, balls it up and pours half the contents of her water bottle over it. She presses the damp cloth to his forehead and hands him the rest of the water. “Small sips,” she tells him.</p><p>She doesn’t know how long they stay there, how long she sits vigil over him, but in time the fever recedes and his skin loses its clammy quality. Buffy could almost cry with relief.</p><p>“Do you think you’re up to continuing back now?” She holds up a finger to forestall his immediate response. “<em>Honestly.</em> No being macho about it.”</p><p>He holds her eyes seriously. “I think so.”</p><p>“Good.” She clasps his hand tightly in hers, though she holds herself away from him still, knowing her body heat is the last thing he needs. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she pleads. “You’re not invulnerable anymore, you’ve got to take care of yourself.”</p><p>He brings their joined hands to his lips, brushes a kiss over her knuckles. “I’ll try,” he promises.</p>
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